Metamorphosis
by singingstarryknights
Summary: Danny has a lot on his mind on his way to Montana, and everything is changing. The happenings between Go with your instincts and Guilty of murder in the first degree. Spoilers for the third season.
1. Chapter 1

New York to Denver

………

The gravitational pull that pushed Danny Messer securely into his seat on flight 647 made his stomach knot tightly, and inwardly he groaned. His hatred of flying, mixed with the steady decline of his fourth wind, and a nagging doubt that he had just made to worst decision of his life bore down heavily on him. He tugged his frames off his features, cringing wearily as he pinched the bridge of his nose, willing his heart rate to slow, and sleep to take him. He stretched his feet out, propping them up against the bar under the seat in front of him, slouching just enough to pillow his head against the back of the synthetic fibers supporting him.

He was vaguely trying to decide whether or not the four and a half hours that lay between him and Denver would be suited better for a nap or strategic planning. He balanced his glasses back on his nose as the plane leveled in the air, and as the LED illuminating the seatbelt sign died, he settled in for a few hours of much needed sleep. He'd figure out what to say to her on the connecting flight from Denver to Bozeman. He was in no shape to be making potentially life-altering decisions.

He used to fly almost everyday, back when he was playing ball, when the future of his career was beginning to look like Wrigley Field. Day game in Syracuse, night game in Pawtucket. Wave to the sparkling outline of Staten Island as it passes beneath the plane, en route to Charlotte for a night's sleep in a dingy, one and a half star motel before pushing his all into improving his numbers before showering in a crusty, degraded locker room, boarding another plane, and heading out west, following the sun to Oklahoma, Toledo, Portland. His fingers made their way to his shoulder, slipping beneath the leather of his jacket and the cotton of his polo shirt, feeling for the hardened scar, remnant of the labral tear and the subsequent repair that had cost him a spot in the Chicago line up, bringing him, ultimately, to NYPD, and Mac Taylor.

He'd never been thankful for the injury, really, had always resented the early death of his career at the hands of one very bad pitch, and one badly timed catch, combined with one very bad punch in one seedy bar in Minneapolis. Danny rolled his head to the side, letting his attention be caught by the pinpricks of light below him, interrupting the black earth. When the dust settled on this one, he was going to track down Jake Winters and thank him for hitting the grounder that ultimately sent him to the OR. He fidgeted uneasily, hoping he had gone with the right instinct.

"Business or pleasure?" The amicable, eager voice beside him invaded his thoughts, and he turned away from the window, gauging the older man with a weary expression. He had to be early fifties, his heavy build clothed in a tasteful dark suit, a kindly smile fixed to his clean-shaven jaw. Danny sighed exhaustively before giving in and answering.

"A girl." Danny ran a hand through his hair, stifling a groan and stopping his eyes from rolling as the other man chuckled heartily. There was no point in evading him; Danny quickly realized he was trapped in his seat. Suddenly he felt like Edward Norton in that fighting movie. His single-serving friend, however, bore no resemblance at all to Brad Pitt. For that, he was thankful. At least he knew that this was real.

"Yeah, you've got that look."

"What look?" The last thing he wanted was Lindsay to think he was there to get laid. He watched the man beside him frown, and wave his hand in a circular motion, trying to find the right words.

"You know. The look of a man trying not to fall for a woman." He smiled, watching Danny adjust his glasses, letting out a trace of a smile. He offered his hand, coupling it with an easy smirk.

"Charlie Feehan." Danny took it, shaking Charlie's hand firmly.

"Danny Messer." There was an easy distraction, sitting right beside him. He wouldn't have to think about Lindsay, or about how angry Mac was going to be with him, or what to say when the plane touched down in Bozeman. Charlie's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What kind of work do you do?" Danny let out a short laugh; reluctant to believe they were really going through with the single-serving conversation.

"I'm a cop. NYPD." Danny settled back against the seat, letting his eyelids droop for only a second. "What about you?"

"I manage a bank in Denver. On my way home from a conference." Charlie knitted his fingers over his belly, and turned his attention fully on Danny. There was something about him that was encouraging, despite the worn down, troubled expression on his face. He'd been fighting off guys like this from dating his oldest daughter for years, looking like they just climbed off a Harley, the stubble along his jaw proving that he hadn't shaved in days, blending in with his goatee. If any of them had looked at Hannah like this guy was staring out the window, though, he would have given his blessing readily, and booked the hall himself. "What's her name?"

"Lindsay." Danny answered automatically, dropping his voice to a low, husky timbre. He could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up on him slowly, and he stifled the beginnings of a smile that had started to curve on his lip. "Nah, it's not -we, ah, we work together." There was a hardened resolve in the younger man's words, and Charlie assumed that either Danny and his partner were closer than the average pair of cops, or that the affection he felt for her was one-sided. He chuckled, he couldn't help it. The cop sitting beside him reminded him too much of himself.

"That's what I used to say about my wife." Danny's eyes immediately focused on the older man's left hand, realizing that his observational skills were not waning; there was no wedding band on Charlie's finger. "Always a bit scandalous when there's an office romance. Added to the fun." Charlie frowned, pushing the negative thoughts of his beloved wife out of his mind for now. They had been doomed from the start, really, but that wasn't what the younger man beside him needed to hear. He had a growing suspicion Danny Messer hadn't afforded himself the opportunity to come to terms with his own feelings. "Your Lindsay, she's a cop as well?"

His Lindsay. He wanted her so bad his chest hurt.

"Yeah. We're detectives with the Crime Lab. Forensics experts." There was a pregnant pause, and Charlie shifted in his seat, fixing Danny with a gentle expression.

"Forgive me if I'm out of line, Detective, but." Charlie cocked an eyebrow, a bit confused. "What's she doing in Denver?"

"Bozeman. She's in Bozeman. I got a connecting flight. She's from Montana, originally." Danny pursed his lips, fighting off the beginning traces of a heavy migraine from lack of sleep and lack of caffeine. God, he was exhausted. The dull ache in his chest spread leisurely to his knee, claiming weariness rather than tense affection. "Country girl."

"She visiting family, then?"

"Among other things." He was too drained to be annoyed, too tired to reassemble his New Yorker wall that had crumbled into dust over the last seventy-two hours. He didn't want to waste the strength getting his single serving friend to mind his own business. He had a feeling he was going to need it in Bozeman. For her, or, if everything fell apart, for himself. "I just need her." He mumbled softly, wincing as he leaned his elbow on the armrest, propping his head up on a hand. "I forgot how t'do my job without her."

The unyielding affection the younger man felt for this girl was engraved in his every movement, his every word. The man beside him had lost the tough cop exterior, though Charlie didn't doubt the man had it in him. That façade that his son loved to watch on all those TV shows, he had a feeling, was a reality in Danny Messer's life. The heavy weight of his accent suggested he was a native New Yorker. Charlie Feehan could only figure that he had developed real feelings for this girl, and, although he wasn't one to judge on appearance, he was willing to bet the younger man wasn't used to a chase.

"So you're going to get her?"

"Nah. I gotta make sure she's okay." He shoved a hand in his pocket, slumping in the seat dejectedly, shrugging. "She's dealin' with some stuff." There was more to that, Charlie, knew, but by the way the younger man was fidgeting, he chose not to push the subject any further. Danny let out a long sigh evenly as the cabin of the plane jarred marginally, the telltale sign of slight turbulence, his fingers tightening around the armrest to his left, against the window. There was never anything as unnatural as people flying, and he'd never fully get used to the sensation of hopelessness he associated with propelling through the atmosphere at thirty two thousand feet. After his slugging abilities, his tolerance for air travel was the first of his baseball traits to lay to waste.

He suspected the dull itch in his chest was residue of uneasy panic, brought on by the jostling of the plane, remaining due to his hesitantly growing fear of landing. Sure, he had made rash decisions in the past, but she had nearly always been there to ground him, roll her eyes at him. She had a habit of smiling at him with a crooked smirk that told him he had become too wrapped up in an aspect of a case, giving her fresh air opinion offhandedly, like the Mafia wasn't real, or that the traffic on the GW was a product of too many cars instead of a government conspiracy. She disassembled his superstitions and his New Yorker habits, questioning city jargon and city tactics, keeping him honest while always having his back. Feeling Charlie's careful eye, he coughed once, clearing his throat, shifting him his seat to straighten marginally, alleviating discomfort in his lower back, a failed attempt to appear at ease.

"So what are you going to say?" Charlie's question pulled Danny out of his thoughts, and he cocked an eyebrow at his single-serving friend tiredly.

"Huh?"

"When you get to Montana. What are you going to say to her?" Charlie frowned, watching as the gritty New Yorker beside him bit down on his bottom lip, mulling over his immediate future. The muscles in his arm flexed rigidly, from what Charlie assumed was nerves.

"I, uh." Danny pursed his lips, breathing a short sigh, fixing his gaze on the synthetic fibers of the seat in front of him. He shoved his hand in the pockets of his jeans, crinkling his brow in concentration. "I dunno."

"Well, it falls only just shy of eloquent." The older man chuckled, seeing Danny shrug.

"I can't get her outta my head." Danny tried to smile at the toddler in one of the seats in front of them, peering over the top of the upholstery, eyeing him with large, innocent brown eyes. He groaned, giving up. "She's everywhere. She's on every sidewalk. Every subway. In the halls. Elevators. Labs. She's under my skin. I was so bent on hating her, that I was completely blindsided. There's this empty place in my chest, and it hurts, you know? This is crazy." Danny's tone shifted quickly, and he slipped his fingers under his lenses, rubbing the exhaustion and panic from his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fighting off a wave of nausea. "What the hell am I doing?" He mumbled, closing his eyes in an attempt to make it all disappear.

"The body does funny things when it's far from the heart."

"I'm learning." Detecting nostalgia in his tone, Danny turned to observe Charlie Feehan's profile. "So what'd your body do?"

"Excuse me?"

"When you were away from your wife." Danny sat back again, studying the man beside him with undivided attention. "You're not wearing a wedding band." Charlie offered him a weak smile, straightening the fingers of his left hand and glancing down briefly before turning to look the detective straight in the eye.

"I was already married to my job by the time I married Jan. Late nights, early mornings, the whole nine yards. She went part time when we started a family, wanted to spend more time at home with the kids. We've got twins, Hannah and Randy, just turned 19, and then Amy, who's 16, and Emily, who'll be 12 in about a month. I spent the whole marriage at the office, I was trying to support our family, but we hardly saw each other. Started to act more like roommates than husband and wife. She called it off about a year ago."

"Sorry to hear that." Danny's features fell into a compassionate expression, but Charlie waved it off.

"We never had a chance. I always put work first. Biggest flaw, biggest regret." The older man smiled kindly, lost for a moment in thoughts of his failed marriage, before returning his focus to his younger companion. "Don't do that. It never ends well."

"I'll keep it in mind." Danny's smile was short, forced, and Charlie got the impression both Detective Messer and his partner clocked a lot of overtime. Danny pulled his glasses from his nose, squinting to inspect the lenses, wiping them idly on the bottom of his polo shirt. "We work a lot." Charlie opened his mouth to respond, but Danny continued. "Together, alotta the times. We got a rhythm. Work well together." He pushed the frames of his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, wedging almost uncomfortably into the seat. "The chemistry just flies outta the test tubes with us, you know? And she's miserable. I mean, I talked to her a few days ago, and she was barely holdin' it together. Star witness in decade-old murders. It was bad enough she had'ta live it the first time, never mind havin' it explode all around her. I wanna think she needs me." Danny sighed, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I'm beginnin'ta think it's me who needs her."

"Do you love her?" Charlie asked abruptly.

"Yes." Danny answered automatically, before he realized he was startled. Did he really? He wanted her, but it was more than that. He wanted the scent of her hair in his pillow, and he wanted stop restraining himself from kissing her. He'd been the one who was miserable, moping around the lab like someone had just run over his puppy. He wanted her smile to be because he'd put it there, wanted his mother to love her. Most of all, though, he wanted to save her from her childhood like she had saved him; pull her out of the horror she'd left behind, bring her back East where she belonged.

"May I offer a suggestion, Detective?"

"Sure." Danny spoke slowly, frowning at his single serving friend. Charlie pursed his lips, taking a moment. This kid beside him was all city, and the state of Montana was one of the more rural places in the Unites States. City and country, that was like oil and water. Danny's accent had trudged heavily to his ear, and Charlie suspected by his slouching posture and days-old stubble that he hadn't gotten a tremendous amount of sleep in the past week. Maybe month. As the ratio of hours of awake time to hours of sleep became greater and greater, thoughts behind actions and words tended to become less and less. Detective Messer had no idea what he was walking in to.

"Don't speak."


	2. Chapter 2

Denver to Bozeman

………

By the time the plane had landed in Denver, Danny had begun to feel a numbing sensation around the chambers of his heart. It was nerves, Charlie had said. His body realizing what his mind had done. His single serving friend had only smiled at him amusedly, leaving Danny to wonder what, exactly, was so funny. He shook the older man's hand firmly, and they parted pleasantly. Charlie paused after a few steps, watching Detective Messer make his way to his connecting flight several gates down, the weight of the separation hanging heavily on his frame. The slick New Yorker shoved his hands in his pockets, eagerly following the signs for gates 37-54, turning a corner and disappearing from sight.

The early morning sun sparkled brightly from the large glass windows of the terminals, making Danny Messer cringe. He hadn't given much thought to the time, or much of anything else, for that matter, and only now did he begin to realize that it was now Thursday, and had been for sometime. He'd been so tangled in thoughts of Lindsay that he had climbed eagerly on the redeye to Denver in order to take the early morning connector to Bozeman. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone and turning it back on, glancing at the time.

8:58 AM, New York. He vaguely remembered the flight attendant announcing the local time as a few minutes shy of seven o'clock, giving him roughly three quarters of an hour before he needed to board the flight to Bozeman. His phone beeped softly, alerting him of a series of voice messages, but he shoved it back in his pocket, intent on finding a cup of coffee before dealing with residue from any of this week's shifts.

The urge to see Lindsay was overwhelming, now, and Danny couldn't decide whether he wanted to cry or have a cigarette. Neither would sedate the numbness in his chest, and he flexed his arm carefully, checking for outward signs of the onset of cardiac arrest. It wouldn't surprise him. That gnawing, persistent voice in the bleachers of his mind suggested it was love, in a decidedly Mac-sounding timbre.

Ugh, and now he wanted to throw up.

He frowned, taking in his surroundings haggardly, pulling his frames from his nose and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to push away the fatigue that was bound to bring second thoughts. It didn't work, however, and he trudged along down the terminal in search of anything with caffeine.

He was out of his mind, for sure, but he had made it this far, and he had recently come into some time off. Danny briefly entertained the idea of calling and checking in with his boss, but decided that Mac was better left in the dark on this one. It was really all about Lindsay. He needed to see her, needed to know that she was going to be okay, that she was coming home, that she'd come back to him in one piece. He made his way to a coffee stand, getting in line behind a flight attendant and a business man, the swirling scent of darkly roasted caffeine hitting his senses and clearing his head acutely.

He loved her. It was as simple as that. It had been that easy all along. Everything else had just gotten in their way. He was done with the barriers, done with giving her space, done with letting her set the tone. The flight attendant paid for her tea, and the businessman his latte, and Danny made his way to the counter, returning the bright smile the cashier gave him with a sort of half smirk, worn down by heavy thoughts of his future and how he was going to go about making it _their_ future.

"What can I getcha?" When he didn't respond, the girl behind the counter arched an eyebrow at him, trying again. "Sir?"

"Huh?"

"What would you like?" She spoke slowly, not quite hiding her amusement. What would he like. He would like to be home, curled up in his bed, snuggled against Lindsay's body. He would like to see her smile, roll her eyes at his corny jokes. He would like to kiss her fiercely, tell her he loved her, would like to love her, if she'd let him in.

Danny put his glasses back on, squinting at the girl behind the counter, momentarily confused as her expectant look turned into knowing amusement.

"Lemme guess. Big, with an extra shot of espresso." She worked espresso machine adeptly, pouring first coffee from the steaming decanter into a large travel cup, then dumping the shot in neatly, securing a cover over the top.

"Yeah, thanks." Danny's delayed reaction made the girl chuckle, and she made his change quickly, handing it back to him with a friendly smile.

"Good luck, sir." He paused, eyes crinkled in confusion, but she gave him a smug grin, shrugging. "You look like you're chasing something." Danny's confusion broke into a charming smile, and he breathed out a short laugh, tipping his cup toward her, before taking a step away from the counter, making room for the guy who was behind him.

"You are very good." He felt marginally better after his first sip, the bitter black coffee flooding his taste buds and singeing the back of his throat with welcome feeling. He made his way back down to his terminal, double checking the flight time with the board, smirking as he saw that his flight hadn't been delayed. Danny collapsed tiredly into the last in a row of hard plastic chairs, taking another sip of his coffee before pulling out his phone, deciding to attend to his messages. He dialed his code and hit the pound key, holding the piece of technology up to his ear, his attention falling back to his home state as the automated voice told him he had two messages.

"_Hey, Danny, just wanted to tell you we brought Luke Blade into custody, his adoptive mother is filing charges. Time's looking like 25 to life at the least, Hopefully LWP."_ Mac's businesslike voice transitioned easily from boss to friend in the space of a breath. _"Get some sleep. Sleep 'til next Monday, seriously. Thanks for the fourth wind and all that, you should have gone home days ago, but we probably wouldn't have nabbed Blade as quickly as we did. Get some rest. Gimme a call when you're conscious."_

Danny pushed his glasses up along the bridge of his nose as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze stalled on the worn, industrial carpeting of terminal 46 of the Denver International Airport. Luke Blade, that was a million years ago, and he had completely forgotten about the case, forgotten about the city, and the space he had promised her. He let out a sigh as Mac's message ended, and the other message clicked on, beginning with a pause of dead air. Finally, he heard Lindsay's shaky voice, small and void of the witty confidence he had learned to love.

"_Hey, ah, I guess I missed you. It's nothing, really."_ He listened to her sigh heavily, fighting off a string of tears. _"Court's been dismissed for the day, I, ah I guess I just needed a pep talk, I'm due to testify again tomorrow, I didn't do so well today. We had to stop."_ His heart shattered as he listened to her cough back a sob, shifting the phone as she wiped her eyes. _"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. I just- I didn't expect to suck. God, I've been on the stand hundreds of times, and when it really counts, it's like I'm fourteen again."_ She paused, and he set his coffee on the dingy carpet at his feet, running a hand through his hair, fighting off any outward sighs of emotion as she began again. _"I fell apart, and he just laughed at me. Looked me square in the eye and laughed, like this was all a game. How can people be so heartless?"_ She chuckled bitterly, making him wince. _"I just wish I'd gotten used to how cruel humanity is. And unpredictable. I hate him so much, and it scares me, Dan. I've never hated anyone before. Well, I hated him, but he never had a name before. His face wasn't so civilized in my memory. I'm rambling. Sorry."_ Abruptly, she shifted tones, shaking flighty emotion off her voice. _"Listen, you don't have to call me back, I just needed to get all that off my chest. I'll see you in a couple of days."_

Never had he been so glad he had made such a rash decision.


	3. Chapter 3

Bozeman to Home

………

The cup of coffee had no effect, Danny Messer fell asleep as he sat back against the upholstery of the seat on his flight from Denver to Bozeman. He was out in a dead sleep before he had a chance to buckle his seatbelt, waking only to the gentle pop of his eardrums, signaling the loss of altitude as the approached the Gallatin Field Airport, on the Bozeman limits. The flight attendant announced the local time as 9:30 AM as the plane touched down, a few moments later pulling up to its designated terminal.

At half past nine on a Thursday morning, Danny Messer got his first breath of clear, Montana air. He moved quickly, though, not stopping to enjoy the distinct lack of pollutants, coughing vaguely as the oxygen burned his lungs. The airport, the car rental, it was all a blur. He was so close to her, and all he could think of was getting to her. Danny scribbled directions to the courthouse as the guy at the rental counter dictated, the ache in his chest heavy and uncomfortable. The guy behind the counter asked him a question, but he didn't hear it, snatching his keys off the counter and looking over the directions.

"Sir?"

"Hrm?" Danny looked up, finally noticing that the guy behind the counter was just a kid, not any older than eighteen, maybe nineteen.

"I asked if you were here for Ms. Monroe." Danny froze, utter confusion across his face as his jaw went slack a bit, hanging ajar.

"Wha- how did you know that?" His tone was accusing, but he was more startled than anything. He peered at the kid carefully, wondering how he new Lindsay's name. He shrugged.

"I just figured, you know, you got a pretty heavy accent, and Ms. Monroe's been in New York for a year or so now, and she's continuing her testimony today."

"You got a live feed in here or somethin?" He asked incredulously, becoming aware of just how heavy his accent sounded. The kid nodded toward the far corner of the room, and Danny turned, squinting at the image, his eyes growing wide as he recognized a familiar head of wavy brown curls slipping through a pile of news crews.

"Oh, Lindsay." He breathed, slinking against the counter, the broken expression on her features caught in half a frame as she ducked away from the white, blinding camera lights, and into the courtroom, shutting the camera crews out. "Has there been coverage of the trial the whole time?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whole town's watching. I was like, three years old when those girls died, I don't remember, but everybody's been talking about it. Kelly Garner on channel four said that Ms. Monroe was the only survivor. And the DA says their case depends on her testimony. Something about the forensics not being stored correctly or something. Pretty dramatic." He shrugged, looking over Danny's disheveled appearance, shaking his head.

"She's been on the news before?"

"Yeah. Since she came off the plane. The press is all over her like grease on hide. Defense is all over her, too. They've been tearing her to bits every time they get in front of the cameras. Talking her off like some scared kid. Prosecution keeps saying she's a cop in New York, and it's gonna take a lot to shake her boots, but she didn't look so good yesterday, even if she is some tough-"

"Thanks, man." Danny stopped listening and took off, jerking the door open and finding his rental and climbing in, pulling out onto the 209 and closing the distance between his body and his heart. He didn't bother to look at the scenery, and he punched the power button of the radio gently, leaving himself in silence instead of the twang of country music that happened to be on. Had he not been so worried about her, so desperate to see her, he would have laughed, and made some joke about cowboys and dirt roads. Instead, his tears blurred his vision faintly, and he let out a cough, hiding a sob. "Ah, God, Linds. Hang in there."

He didn't need directions after all, he followed the trail of news trucks, the fifteen minutes drive to the courthouse taking seven or eight as his foot became heavy on the gas, the fidgety anticipation of seeing Lindsay Monroe magnified acutely now that he had heard her message, seen her struggle through the news crews, an insatiable urge to save her, to shield her, protect her from all of that weighing thickly in his limbs and around his heart.

Danny pulled took the left that lined the north side of the courthouse, avoiding the news trucks camped out in the front lawn, coming upon a back lot and pulling into the first spot he saw, killing the engine quickly and pocketing the keys. This was all so unreal, and again Danny fought off a wave of panic mixed with a hefty amount of insecurity. Would his presence do more harm than good? Chasing her across the country wasn't exactly the definition of giving her space.

"No. Don't go talkin' yourself outta this. Instincts, Messer." He mumbled, climbing out of the car and closing the door soundly, surveying the drab cement building. He hadn't thought of this part. The sun shone brightly, and Danny squinted against it, scanning the side of the building for a side door and spotting one. He wondered vaguely how far his badge would get him. Then again, if the kid at the car rental counter made him as a New Yorker, then certainly any person on this particular property would have him pegged the moment he stepped inside.

His reservations about being out of his element were won over by his need to see Lindsay, and he made his way across the small lot, trying the handle on the side door, frowning when he found it locked. He muttered an expletive, frustration stirring into his growing desperation, making the tears that he'd been putting off burn in his chest. High profile case like this, of course the only way into the courthouse was through the main entrance. He shoved his hands in his pockets, turning around and leaning his back against the concrete outer wall, rummaging around his heart for the courage to get to her.

After a moment of gathering his wits, he pulled out his phone, glancing at the display. 11:47 New York, meaning it was 9:47 local time. Court, he knew, from the news report on the television at the car rental place, was due to be in session at the turn of the hour. And Lindsay's testimony would continue, he knew, from the message she had left him. He had a small window of time. This was the very last barrier between his body and his heart, and all he wanted to do was see her, make sure she was okay, be there for her, be with her. God, he wanted to be with her. He was going out of his mind without her, and he'd be damned if he was going to let this country building scare away his Staten Island nerve.

He made his way around the side of the building, slipping quietly up the steps, the handful pairs of reporters and cameramen too wrapped up in the details of the case, and the character of the DA's star witness to pay him any mind. He breathed a relieved sigh, pushing through the main door and looking around. The security guard, an older man with more salt than pepper in his hair, and a kindly expression, waved him over to the metal detector, ushering him through. The alarm sounded softly, and Danny stepped back on the other side, groaning. He didn't have time for this.

"Sir, if you could just empty your pockets-"

"Yeah, it's probably this." Danny unclipped his badge and dropped it unceremoniously into the little plastic bin, stepping through the boxy arch of the detector again silently. He bit his lip, holding his hand out for his badge, which the security guard gave back slowly.

"NYPD, huh?"

"Yeah. Forgot to take it off when I went off duty. Where's the-"

"Courtroom three."

"Thanks."

Danny slipped his badge back into his pocket, wedging the back flap between the waistband of his jeans and the leather of his belt, making it hang snugly, shining dully in the fluorescent lighting as he approached the huddled mass of cameramen crowded around the looming door to the courtroom, suspended prestigiously between him and Lindsay. Danny's breath caught in his throat, and he chewed his lip, running a hand along the nape of his neck.

"They're just starting." One of the newscasters said, jerking his head in the direction of the courtroom, catching a glimpse of the detective's badge fixed to Danny's hip. He assumed he was being mistaken for one of the detectives on the case, but he only wanted to get to her. He didn't want to see her like these animals, didn't want to watch her squirm and fold. He wanted to give her everything he was, everything he had. He wanted to be her patch of city in the flood of country. He'd only been there ten minutes and he was already drowning. "Monroe's due back on the stand. Got a little rattled yesterday." The newscaster sounded pleased, cocky almost, and Danny's stomach turned sour, and he set his jaw firmly, restraining his hand from becoming a fist.

"Watch your mouth." Danny laid on his Staten Island accent heavily as he wrapped his fingers around the handle, stepping through the door. It closed behind him quickly, trapping him inside with his insecurities and his doubts, cutting out the white noise of the paparazzi abruptly. He looked to the witness stand, hearing silence instead of Lindsay's soft alto.

His body became paralyzed, the ache in his chest squeezing and twisting his heart sharply. He opened his mouth to say something, but the fear fell out of her eyes, and he remembered Charlie Feehan's advice. He closed his mouth, opting to not speak, instead offering her a tight trace of a smile and taking a seat quickly, not wanting to interrupt the proceedings. The prosecutor turned, following Lindsay's gaze, giving Danny a once over before returning his attention to the witness stand.

"Ms. Monroe?" He watched her fluster, and straighten in the chair, reluctantly returning her attention to the prosecutor before her. When she spoke again, there was a quiet steady quality to her voice that had been missing on the message she had left him, settling his nerves. He listened, really listened, to her words and her tone and her eyes, that kept straying away from the prosecutor and catching his. The other people faded when she looked at him, and suddenly they were alone. Her testimony became stronger, more determined, beginning to sound something like the Lindsay Monroe who was a New York detective.

Almost an hour passed, and Lindsay concluded her testimony. Danny watched the prosecutor thank her, and gave her permission to step down. The mothers whose faces haunted her had tears streaming down their cheeks, but Lindsay only looked at him. The prosecutor asked for a break, and the judge agreed, calling a short recess. He stood, stepping out into the aisle of the gallery, his heart teetering between breaking and mending.

She made her way determinedly past the families and the friends, the prosecution and the defense, closing the short distance between them in the space of a moment, hugging him with such force he almost stumbled back, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders, holding her against him comfortably, cradling her head to his chest, feeling the damp of her tears through his shirt. Her arms wove around his middle, tightening around his waist with a pressure that squeezed his heart.

They stood like that for several minutes, wading in the bustling activity of the courtroom at recess, ignoring it all. The feel of her pressed against him so easily brought him right back to flash bang grenades and Kevlar vests, and his tears made his eyes sparkle behind his frames.

Lindsay pulled back first, opening her mouth to say something, finding her self at a loss of words. He shook his head faintly, releasing her shoulders to bring his fingers to cradle her face, wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. He shuddered, feeling her fingers splay along the small of his back. He leaned in, kissing her swiftly, grasping her in a tight embrace, willing the world to disappear. The courtroom had emptied, and they were alone. Danny sighed, the relief that she was alright, safe, there beside him overwhelming him, and he held her tighter still, not willing to ever let her out of his sight again. Lindsay smiled in the crook of his neck, remembering how well she fit there.

He had come. Never, in a thousand years, would she have expected to see him in her home state. Never, in a thousand years, did she think he would keep up the chase. She began to cry, the stress of the trial, of battling her demons, of facing everyone she had left behind buckled under the unadulterated surprise of Danny's comforting presence, and the dull, tugging surprise of how glad she was to see him.

Her grip turned harder, hands that had been splayed now balled into fists, holding on to him. He felt her shaky, uneven tears, rocking her slowly, rhythmically, cradling her head to his shoulder, pressing another kiss to her hair, his hold softening to companionable, affectionate, steady; grounding her. Slowly, she recovered, her breathing evening against his collarbone, but remaining heated, intimate. He ran his hand through her curls idly, waiting for her to pull away. When she finally did, she smiled genuinely at him, despite the tears beginning to dry in winding paths down her cheeks, in awe that he was really there with her.

"Thank you." She whispered, heavy, startled gratitude in her eyes. He smiled warmly at her, shrugging before tilting his head and kissing her again, lovingly. She responded with something that would become eager once everything was over, her hand slipping from the small of his back to his chest, pulling him down to her by the front of his shirt, shifting and deepening their kiss calmly.

There, in the middle of Montana, Danny finally felt like he was home.


End file.
